


For Now

by ToxicBabes



Series: Tales of Apartment 8H [11]
Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Intimacy, M/M, Oneshot, Romance, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26753314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToxicBabes/pseuds/ToxicBabes
Summary: An incident during a mission leaves Timur gravely injured, but thankfully he has Maxim by his side.
Relationships: Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Timur "Glaz" Glazkov
Series: Tales of Apartment 8H [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705774
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	For Now

**Author's Note:**

> Some physical and emotional hurt/comfort this time, plus some more intimate scenes of Maxim caring for Timur. There is nothing particularly sexual about this oneshot, though it is rated mature because it has some crude references that aren't exactly rated for teen and up. Anyways, I hope you enjoy. There may be something interesting next week or a ficlet depending what happens.

A raid on a compound suspected to hold stolen weaponry and various chemical components to produce explosives. The intel was solid, so they set out before dawn. It was supposed to be a clean mission, eliminate all hostiles, seize the chemicals for analysis. Murphy’s law struck. Things started going awry long ago, the terrorists had more firepower than expected. Although Team Rainbow was up for the task and when it came to adapting on the fly, they had no difficulty with changing their plan of action. 

Through the calamity of gunfire and explosions, the radio chatter called out any prominent threats and coordinated their attacks as they advanced through the building, clearing sectors as a sweeping force. Beams of flashlights cut down a narrow hallway and Timur aimed down his sights. The adrenaline coursing through his veins made his reaction faster than ever. All he needed was to see that distinct yellow outline on his scope and he had the advantage.

Aggression from the enemy forced him behind cover. He waited for the continuous fire to stop before daring to peek and they exchanged shots. The dust from the punctured drywall clouded their vision, but Timur managed to catch a glimpse of his target. His rifle jolted in his grip. The threat was neutralised. He turned his sights down the hallway. 

A slight movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. It was too late. By the time he could react, the enemy had pulled the trigger. Searing pain disabled Timur’s right shoulder, but he managed to draw his pistol and he fired a shot between his assailant’s eyes. An uncomfortable wetness bloomed from his wound and he looked down at his trembling hand- only for a split second. A roar of gunfire forced him to find cover fast and he threw himself down. The ceramic plate of his vest shattered upon impact from the hail of bullets. 

His legs trembled as he crawled deeper into cover, following the instructions from his teammates. It was almost impossible to make anything out in the dark and he felt at his shoulder, fingerless gloves giving him the slightest tactile sensation of warm blood soaked into all the fabrics of his uniform. Someone came to assist and the figure knelt by his side began unpacking a medic kit, contents strewn across the ground in haste. 

“Glazkov’s injured, we need a medic over here,” Shuhrat ordered down their communications and he inspected Timur’s injuries before deciding the first course of action. The adrenaline masked most of the pain but as it wore off, Timur grew aware of the discomfort blooming across his entire torso. “Stay awake. You need to put pressure on this- Timur, focus on me.”

Despite hearing the words so clearly, Timur couldn’t force his body to respond. He managed to clasp his shaky hands over the gauze and he pressed it against his lower abdomen. The pressure tore an agonised groan from his throat and he clenched his teeth when Shuhrat tended to his shoulder wound. The sudden loss of blood was beginning to make Timur’s head spin and he blinked up at the sight of Shuhrat looking down at him. The helmet hid any expression, but he trusted his teammate and knew Shuhrat was not one to panic. 

It didn’t take long for the white gauze to become soaked in blood and a terrible dread overcame Timur when he uncovered his hand for a brief moment to inspect the damage. Shuhrat was quick to press down on it, remaining there through the writhing and Timur’s choked gasps for air. The way the pain of his wounds crashed upon him was frightening. At first, it was no different to a hard punch to the abdomen, but after he collapsed, the sensation was almost surreal. A burning, aching, _stinging_ pain that debilitated any comprehension of that was happening. 

He wasn’t sure if he was going to die, but every action he took felt irrational as if he had lost the ability to dictate what to do with his hands as they grasped at Shuhrat’s wrist to pry away the contact because it _hurt._ It hurt so much.

“Keep us covered, Maxim,” Shuhrat continued to give the orders. He wasn’t going to let the situation fall apart any worse than it already was. “We need to get him out of here. He’s bleeding bad.” 

_Glazkov’s injured. He’s bleeding bad._ The words resonated for hours on end, even after the mission. Everything was a complete blur, all the details marred by the adrenaline from bullets zipping past heads. Timur lost consciousness by the time they were carrying him out on a stretcher to the evacuation helicopter, his last memory being Gustave’s heavy accent reassuring him that everything will be alright.

For Maxim, it was an entirely different story. The mission was a success in the end, they carried out their objectives as written on paper and managed to limit their losses. Though there wasn’t a passing second where he didn’t think about Timur and he knew how dangerous it was to get distracted, but nothing could peel his mind off the intrusive thoughts of the worst possible scenarios. 

It continued to haunt him by the time they were in hospital getting checked over for any injuries. Gustave informed them that Timur was stable, but undergoing surgery to repair the internal damage done by the two bullet wounds. To follow that information, he added that Timur had lost a considerable amount of blood. The injuries were severe, those were the words he had chosen and Gustave was not a hyperbolic man by any means. 

There wasn’t anything else that could be said to comfort Maxim. Aside from making it out alive, Timur’s condition wasn’t looking bright and only time could tell if he would still be fit to return to the field. Maxim waited and waited, sat outside the operating theatre for hours now. He watched as people came and went, nurses getting off their shifts and the arrival of the night employees. 

Had it not been for Lera, Maxim would have picked off all the skin around his fingers. She brought him to the cafeteria and for the first time in hours, Maxim managed to force himself to drink something. His appetite was long gone, suppressed by the lingering tensions from the mission and all the worries clouding his mind. He stilled the trembling in his hands by cupping them around his warm cup and he traced his fingers over the corrugated cardboard. The rising steam ghosted over his skin. He stared back at his own reflection, now aware of the grime resting on his skin.

They claimed a table in the far corner of the room where it felt most secure, all entrances visible and no angles left in their blind spot. Lera shifted her gaze between the surrounding area and watching Maxim to decipher the troubled look on his face. Sensing there was no use in reassuring him, she didn’t pester him with unnecessary conversation. Though when he put his head down against the desk, bowing from the sheer weight of his emotions, she placed a hand at the base of his neck and squeezed the tensed muscles. 

Maxim took in a deep breath, his broad shoulders rising upwards and as he raised his head, he turned to look at Lera. She gave a solemn nod, her touch lingering until she saw their teammates approaching, to which she patted him gently and retracted her hand. Shuhrat set down his paper cup of hot tea and pulled over a chair.

“Gustave is looking for you,” Shuhrat told Lera, his voice soft with exhaustion. “Said it was important. He was by the lobby last time I checked.”

A long silence followed. Lera ran a hand through her hair and nodded, lacking the energy to speak at this point. Alone together now, they exchanged curt nods and Shuhrat’s lips twisted into a thin line as he thought about whether he should speak. 

“He’ll be okay,” Shuhrat said, certain of it. “You know what he’s like. He’s soft, but he won’t go down without a fight.”

The conversation was treading close to heart. Maxim sipped at his tea and hummed under his breath. “It was good you got to him fast.” He couldn’t afford to let his emotions get the better of him, especially given the fact that his relationship status with Timur was kept in the dark. Although there was nothing more he wanted than to spill out every worry and fear, to become completely unhinged with anger that everything was so out of his control. Though he couldn’t. He nursed his anxieties with lukewarm tea and he refused to give in to how they wracked his entire being with stress. “You did well. It was so… chaotic. Was he- What was he like?” 

Shuhrat’s careful stare remained on Maxim’s face. He gathered his thoughts. “He was in shock from the blood loss,” he began, recalling each detail at a time and it seemed to unease him to experience visions of a dear friend hanging onto his life by the threads. “He was scared, anyone would have been. There was a lot of blood- but he’s okay now. They’re repairing the internal damage, he’ll pull through.”

Maxim had to remind himself to unclench his jaw. The nausea stirring in his stomach made the muscles of his belly seize up. He let go of his breath in a tight sigh. “Thank you,” he said with all the earnestness in the universe, finding the strength to look his teammate in the eye. 

“I know you care about him.” It wasn’t an accusatory statement, but an observation and Shuhrat’s expression was genuine. “And I know you’ll worry until he wakes up. Just take care of yourself, Maxim. He’ll need you as well.” 

No matter what the situation was, from being under heavy gunfire to dealing with emotions, Shuhrat always kept a steady head. It was clear he had some notion about the two of them and while Maxim had no intentions of seeking his blessings of approval, he sensed Shuhrat held a firm respect for them. 

“I will.”

* * *

  
  


The pain wasn’t excruciating, but Timur woke with a horrible ache over every inch of his body and he didn’t dare to move in fear of agitating his injuries. The lights were dimmed yet bright to his squinted eyes as he tried to acclimate to his surroundings. How long had he been out? 

Two fingers of his left hand were in a splint, the entire right arm immobilised from the gunshot wound to his shoulder. The dressings were fresh and clean, his skin dry from constant cleansing. A warmth remained firmly over his left hand, he shifted his gaze to find Maxim asleep and resting in a chair pulled close to the bed. His expression was contorted in discomfort with the angle of his neck craned, head fallen aside naturally. 

There wasn’t any way for Timur to give indication that he was awake aside from speaking. He could barely move. When he tried to talk, he became aware of the scratch in his throat and managed a slight croak. It was enough to make Maxim stir from his sleep. Brows knitting together, he brought a hand to his sore neck, but the second he saw Timur, relief washed over him.

“Hey.” Through the nausea and drowsiness, Timur had never been more glad to hear Maxim’s voice, that gravelly tone that he never failed to associate with safety and security. “It doesn’t hurt too bad, does it?”

“It does,” Timur answered, the corners of his lips working into a cheeky smile with whatever energy he had left. He laughed, but the slightest movements of his ribs caused his chest to sear with pain. The bulletproof vest managed to prevent some wounds, but the impact left considerable bruising. His smile disappeared within seconds, expression twisting with agony and he held back a groan as he stiffened. 

“Here.” Maxim brought a glass of water to his lips. It was no wonder that Timur’s voice was so hoarse. Surgery had him intubated for a considerable amount of time. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

“No, stay.” Despite having his fingers splinted and an IV cannula jutting from the back of his hand, Timur reached out for Maxim. Cradling the fragile hand in both palms, Maxim studied the cool, dry skin for a moment before pressing his lips over Timur’s scratched knuckles. The contact was warm, unlike themselves as Timur was far too used to Maxim being the cold one. “What day is it?”

“Wednesday. The mission was Monday, you’ve been asleep for a while,” Maxim filled him in on the lost details and he shifted his chair closer to the bed. “You got shot twice, lost a lot of blood. The doctor joked you were gonna drain the local blood bank. And I… I thought I was going to lose you.”

The quiet admission was spoken in a tender manner, words which have been resting on his mind for days now. His brows furrowed upwards and he lowered his gaze to focus on the dried blood under Timur’s fingernails, an attempt to hide the way his eyes were beginning to dampen. In response, Timur reached out to cup his cheek, a palm sliding over Maxim’s bony jawline and against his overgrown stubble. Nuzzling into Timur’s touch to cherish this, Maxim took in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

They shared the silence with an insatiable yearning between them, the _need_ to hold one another remaining unfulfilled as the minutes passed by. Unable to bear it any longer, Maxim leaned in to press his lips against Timur’s and chapped skin caught in all the awkward places, their noses clashed, the nasal cannula got in the way. It hadn’t occurred to either of them how surreal the entire situation was with all the medical equipment blinking around them and the grimy, nervous state of Maxim. 

Hand moving to touch his hair, Timur felt the oils built up over the past few days- an unpleasant sensation, though nothing gave him greater peace than knowing his lover was close and safe as well. He sensed the older man’s need to embrace him and he too desired this just as much, but the circumstances of _everything_ made it impossible. 

At some point, they had to part once again. The curtains were drawn to give some privacy, but not all the way and the door left ajar in the case that something went wrong. Sitting back now, Maxim left his hand clasped over Timur’s wrist and he cast a gentle look towards him, one of sympathy because he knew how uncomfortable it must be. 

“Is everyone else okay?” Timur asked.

Before answering, Maxim coaxed him to drink some more water. “Yeah, everyone’s alive. No casualties,” he said and passed the pad of his thumb over the corner of Timur’s lip where dark whiskers of his facial hair were coming in and he wiped away a droplet. “Do you need anything?”

The sound of someone at the door cut them off. Hands retracting in reflex, Maxim rested back on his chair as he turned to see who it was. Thankfully, it was just Lera. She may have seen them during the interaction, though there was little to worry about. Behind her came the rest of their squad, tentative expressions wrought with anticipation. Once they saw Timur’s weak smile, their worst fears began to dissipate and they learned to trust in his resilience. 

The prognosis from the doctor wasn’t ideal, though better than the alternative. It was disheartening for Timur to hear it would take a considerable amount of time for him to heal and the sheer amount of physiotherapy he needed to go through, but he kept his spirits high and tried to remain optimistic about the future. Thankfully he had Maxim by his side to help him once they returned to England, it would be hell trying to do anything without tearing his stitches. 

The second shot to Timur’s abdomen was reminiscent of the appendectomy he got as a child, though twice as bad and on the opposite side. He could walk short distances at most. Any physical exertion or standing around exhausted his body and he no longer felt so adamant about a wheelchair. 

The grey walls of their apartment building greeted him like an old friend. Maxim stopped to check their mailbox and pocketed the envelopes, more than usual given that they had been absent for a while. Someone of a familiar face held the elevator door open for them, stepping aside to accommodate for the wheelchair and the two bulky bags Maxim was hoisting over his shoulder.

The elevator rides were always awkward with other people present, especially when they communicated in their native tongues. Today Maxim didn’t give it a piece of mind and continued to fuss over whether Timur was warm enough or that he wasn’t feeling too nauseous from the car journey. The stranger seemed to be a bit curious, sparing a glance towards them. The elevator paused on a floor, doors slid open, then they were left alone once again.

Their apartment door gave some trouble, but they managed to squeeze through and the commotion alerted Koshka of their entry. A generous amount of kibble remained in her bowl, the product of a busy neighbour making sure she wouldn’t go hungry. A part of Timur worried she would be twice the size, but she trotted up to him as slim as she always was. 

She was quick to greet their return, immensely curious about the new smells. Seeing as she was keen to pester Timur for affections, Maxim prioritised getting him comfortably settled in and helped him onto their couch. With that done, he retreated into their bedroom to begin unpacking their belongings, only to hear Timur bickering at Koshka under his breath. 

After so many weeks apart, she wanted to curl up on his chest and receive firm scratches behind the ear. The second she pressed a paw onto Timur’s stomach, he flinched and his intense reaction made her somewhat cautious. She sniffed at the hem of his shirt and studied where she could possibly tread without agitating her grumpy man.

“Come here,” Timur murmured, beckoning with a hand and he tensed his muscles to brace for her paws that seemed to press in all the uncomfortable places. He coaxed her to lay down on the side of his body where he was not as injured and she stretched out along the length of his torso, purring like a motor as he cradled her with his arm. He couldn’t quite pet her given the limited range of motion in his other arm, but she was fully content with lying atop of him. “I missed you, baby.”

The exaggerated sound of Timur kissing her little head put a smile on Maxim’s face. He hastily folded the rest of their shirts and put them into the drawers then returned to them. The clock struck five o’clock and he remembered the fridge had been relatively cleared before they left for their mission. He brought Timur his painkillers and a glass of water, seeing as he was due for another dosage of medication that kept the pain manageable.

“I’m going to the store. What do you want for dinner?” Maxim asked, fingers gently itching Timur’s scalp in such a relaxing fashion that would have Koshka jealous had she not been asleep. “Want any snacks?”

Two questions were too many for Timur. The medication made him drowsy and any appetite for the usual junk he enjoyed in the late evenings had disappeared. He hummed as he churned his thoughts for anything in particular to come to mind. “Pasta tonight?” He suggested with a small smile on his face. 

When it came to dinner, Timur was often the one calling the shots. As long as it was simple enough to make, Maxim didn’t mind at all. He was never picky with what he had to eat and the knowledge that Timur appreciated his cooking never failed to grant him fulfilment. The most plain dishes earned some kind of praise and Timur’s expressions of satisfaction left Maxim comforted by the fact that his loved one was satiated by his efforts.

“Anything else?” Maxim asked to make sure. He pressed a kiss onto Timur’s forehead when the younger man hummed to confirm there was nothing he wanted, not even his usual list of various foods he needed restocked. It didn’t matter, Maxim had them memorised in his heart. “If you need me, call.” 

He wasn’t gone for long. Without anyone to slow him down, he made an efficient trip to the store nearby and brought everything he needed. No detours, no time wasted googling for that one specific brand, he disciplined himself from wandering down the pet aisle to buy more treats for Koshka. He filled his trolley with the ingredients and made haste to the aisle to find the particular kind of crisps Timur liked the most. 

The cashier recognised him and they made short conversation over the steady rhythm of quiet beeps from the bar code scanner. At the end of the transaction, Maxim added to include a pack of cigarettes. The same old pack of Marlboros, he didn’t see much need to change. He knew Dominic smoked Mayfairs, though from all the times he had to bum a cigarette off him, Maxim always cursed himself for either forgetting or running out of smokes. 

On the brisk walk home, he opened the pack and lit one. Had Timur been with him, he would have made a sound of mock-disgust and strayed a few feet to the side. Depending on his mood and the temperature, he might have beckoned for a drag and it was an automatic response for Maxim to hand it over. Though today, he huddled close to his hoodie with the cigarette sandwiched at the corner of his lips, plastic carrier bags digging into the creases between his fingers. The bags rustled in the wind and bumped against his knee as he legged it home in hopes to make it back before the rain could begin.

The warmth of the apartment greeted him first. He called out for Timur but received no response, only to find the younger man asleep on the couch where he had been left. His mouth lay agape, chest rising and falling with every gentle breath. Koshka continued to snooze on until she heard the rustling of Maxim in the kitchen and the prospect of being gifted something from his grocery run excited her. The sudden weight of her paws stomping on Timur’s abdomen woke him instantly. He groaned and held a hand to his side.

Concern flashed over Maxim’s face and he stopped unpacking the bags. “Did she hurt you?” He asked. 

“No, I’ll be fine.” Returning to a state of grogginess, Timur pulled up his shirt to check he wasn’t bleeding onto his dressings. 

Maxim began to prepare dinner, though he kept an eye on him from his peripheral vision. Several minutes passed where he couldn’t decipher what Timur’s fatigue meant. “How are you feeling?” 

“Tired. The meds are strong.” Timur fought the urge to fall asleep again and forced himself to sit up. His expression contorted with discomfort as he eased himself onto his feet, the engagement of injured muscle sending a dull ache throughout his torso. Despite that, he stepped towards the open kitchen and approached Maxim to snake his good arm around the older man. “I missed your cooking.”

Maxim refrained from moving around too much, but he acknowledged Timur by touching a hand to his arm and he glanced down to see Timur’s splinted fingers pressed flush against his belly. The injuries would make various things difficult to do and it took away a lot of independence from him, many of which he had not considered before.

“Say I help you with a shower after we eat?” Maxim offered as he sliced some onion, hands moving deftly to work as fast as possible. He made the decision to keep tonight’s dinner relatively simple in case Timur’s stomach was still sensitive to stronger flavours. 

While he didn’t have the appetite to finish his bowl, Timur appreciated the homemade meal over the hospital food. It was comforting to be home after everything, especially given the circumstances of his wounds putting him out of his job for a considerable amount of time. He hoped for a quick recovery, but it seemed that it wasn’t going to be that simple. 

Having Maxim by his side was something Timur hadn’t ever been more grateful for, even if it did bring some embarrassment to himself. He was unable to do many things without assistance, something he came to a realisation with as Maxim helped him take off his t-shirt. 

“I don’t remember hurting my hand,” Timur said, studying the splint applied to his fingers. It relieved him that it wasn’t his dominant hand, at least he could manage some brief sketches to entertain himself during his medical leave. 

“You went down hard,” Maxim told him in almost a murmur, concentrated on peeling away the dressings wrapped tight around his shoulder. There was significant bruising around Timur’s ribs where the impact of the bullets dispersed across his vest, though unfortunately it did not provide any coverage to his lower abdomen where a shot had entered just above his hip. “Pretty much threw yourself down, you had no choice.” 

The slightest of perplexity flittered across Timur’s expression. He had barely any recollection of the mission at all. The electric shaver filled their silence and Maxim did a thorough job of ensuring Timur’s stubble was trimmed down, close enough to keep everything clean and convenient for the both of them. They were too used to a bit of stylish scruff, but that wasn’t easy to maintain. 

It took some time to find the right temperature for the water, though Maxim came to learn that Timur genuinely liked the water to be near scalding and that he didn’t simply agree to it during the times they decided to shower together. The thought of having to be bathed left Timur with a little reluctance, but he got in the tub and set his self-consciousness aside to get this done and over with.

Kneeling at the side of the tub with his sleeves rolled up, Maxim began with washing his hair and gave a good scalp massage in the process. He made sure the suds didn’t get into Timur’s eyes and once that was done, he moved onto the body wash. The array of purple, blue and yellow bruising across his chest demanded gentleness and Maxim took care as he passed his palm over these areas, taking into account how Timur’s expression tensed at the light touch. 

With the rest of his body, Maxim was able to give a firm scrubbing to make sure he was clean. He went down each leg, kneading the firm muscle with strong hands and the veins on his arms were visible from the slight exertion. He reached for Timur’s crotch and in that very moment they had managed to make eye contact.

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Maxim raised a brow, working quickly to spare him of the humiliation. His fingers brushed against every sensitive place and ran along the cleft of Timur’s ass, though there was nothing arousing about this act at all. 

“I think I’m allowed to be a little embarrassed that you’re cleaning my dick, no?” Timur tried to play it off in a collected manner, but it was impossible to hide it at this point. However, Maxim was preoccupied with the process of bathing that he had not been thinking of the strangeness about what he was doing.

“I do it because I love you.” Maxim told him in a frank manner, a slight smile playing at his lips. He rubbed the pad of his fingers against the corners of Timur’s eyes, cleansed the creases of his ears and behind them as well. He rinsed Timur through once more before pressing a kiss against his damp forehead and letting him soak under the running water for a while. 

Sat upon the edge of the tub, Maxim rested and Timur looked up at him as he took in the honest statement. An overwhelming sensation fluttered in his chest, a sudden surge of emotion rendering him completely vulnerable. It was true. Maxim did love Timur and he felt that down to the marrow of his bones, within his soul and in his heart. Every inch of him, cleansed by the hand of his lover out of care and purest affections. The dependency left him somewhat flustered, if not frustrated with himself, but he held the world’s gratitude to have Maxim by his side.

The wound to Timur’s side made it sore to use his core muscles, though with a hand he managed to stand on his feet with no major pain. The splinted fingers gave some trouble when it came to finer manoeuvre, though he was still able to grip the towel and dry himself to an extent. 

“I got you all wet,” Timur murmured and nodded towards Maxim’s damp sweater. 

“It’s fine, I sleep naked anyways.” All the gentleness had been placed aside when Maxim dried his hair, almost scrubbing him like he would with a dog and leaving Timur looking scruffy. Maxim knelt down and received one foot at a time, patted them dry as Timur clasped a hand on his shoulder for leverage. “Go wait in the bed. I’ll get the dressings sorted.”

The bedside lamp was on, keeping the room dimly lit. Timur took slow and careful steps to avoid hurting himself, focusing on the end goal that were the crisp sheets and Koshka’s eager purring to receive some pats. He settled down on his side of the bed and she laid down beside him, plush fur against bare skin. 

Maxim returned with the small bag of medical supplies the hospital had given them. When the nurses had given a demonstration of how to apply new dressings, he made sure to listen diligently. Whether he would be able to replicate such neatness was an entire new question. He set aside what would be needed and inspected the wounds for a while, making sure the skin was dry and clean.

“Hopefully my fingers get better soon,” Timur spoke up as he watched Maxim work. “Maybe I’ll be able to do more things without needing help, like showering… opening the mail-“

“Jerking off,” Maxim added with a small smile, glancing up to see his reaction. 

Timur’s lips curved into a broad grin. “Yeah? Good thing you’re so helpful all the time,” he said and received a scratchy kiss onto his cheek. The torn packaging scrunched up under Maxim’s fist as he balled everything up. “Thanks.”

“I’m going for a smoke,” Maxim told him and looked over everything once more to assess the dressings. It didn’t look pretty, but it kept the wounds clean and protected. “I’ll be back to get you your painkillers.”

* * *

The days filled into Timur’s journal as cryptic scrawls of cursive Cyrillic, sometimes in graphite and other times in ballpoint with clots of oily ink deposited in the full-stops from leaning too hard. The occasional sketch of Koshka cleaning her paws, or the wiry stature that was Maxim hunched over the balcony railing for a smoke. Even from where Timur was waiting for his tea to brew, he could imagine the goosebumps on Maxim’s skin, stretched over rigid muscle and tight tendons. This image was always dear to Timur’s heart, a sight to behold for years to come. 

Finished with his cigarette, Maxim would dispose of the butt into a plastic bottle, one that was almost full to the top and the stewing contents were a gross mixture of filters and ash. He’d catch Timur watching and flash him a toothy smile, one that revealed his chipped canine and provoked an automatic response from Timur to grin back. 

The door gave a little trouble, but it posed no challenge to Maxim. He returned indoors, shivering from the cool evening air and he pressed a kiss against Timur’s cheek. Their exchange was quiet, the usual questions involving if Timur wanted anything to eat, to which he responded saying dinner was enough and he wasn’t hungry yet. Maxim helped bring his tea to the coffee table by the sofa and sat down, waited for Timur to hobble over and put his feet into his lap. 

The warmth made it tempting to nap and Maxim considered it, propping his head up as he leaned his elbow on the arm rest. He closed his eyes for just a moment- he swore it was just a moment. Timur stopped writing and glanced up to find his lover asleep, mouth open and head tilted back. A typical day-off for the both of them. With an entertained smile, he returned to logging the exercises he did as per instruction from his physiotherapist, how he was managing the pain as he weaned himself off the stronger medications. 

To anyone else, it was usually a task to decipher his handwriting and it took Maxim several years of knowing Timur even as a friend to have a vague notion of what he scribbled in a rush. That didn’t stop Timur from leaving him handwritten notes all the time like a grocery list of all the snacks he had been craving for while Maxim was away at work, the weird yet romantic thoughts he would have, reminders of when his next appointment would be. 

By the time Maxim jolted awake from his slumber, Timur finished writing out a train of thought. Something about Alexsandr, an urge to have a long chat with him again because those conversations always left Timur feeling consoled despite having no particular worry in mind. 

Maxim swallowed thickly and blinked a couple times before reaching for his phone, checking it and he shifted where he sat. He missed being able to rest against Timur, whether that be laying his head against his chest or simply cuddling close. Instead he ran his palm along Timur’s calves, feeling the hairs and relaxed muscles. Over the past weeks, Timur hadn’t had the ability to do any exercise at all and his body had definitely been softer recently, lacking the vigor he once had.

“Your father called, by the way,” Maxim mentioned out of the blue, casting a sleepy look towards him. 

Timur paused and stopped writing. “Why would he call you?” He asked and gave an amused huff, the corners of his lips twitching upwards. “I didn’t know you were best friends.”

“Because you weren’t picking up,” Maxim answered with an ounce of cheek and he gave his thigh a light slap. “He says he’s tried to call you a couple times in the morning but you never answer. He misses you.” 

“And what did you tell him?” Timur continued to question in hopes the interrogation could distract from his sheepish expression. Truth was, he was meaning to do it for a while now but time zones and procrastination made it hard to find the time to fit a call in. 

“Everything.” Maxim held his gaze for a second before he broke. “What? I’m not gonna _lie_ to your dad. He was worrying then and he’s still gonna worry until you tell him it’s alright. If I tell him that you’re all fine, but then he finds out you got shot in two places and nearly bled out, he’ll drown me in the ocean the next time I set foot in Vladivostok.”

The reasoning was sound, there was no arguing against that. Timur let it go and noted in his journal he really ought to call his father. The longer this dragged on, the worse he would feel about it. He closed over his journal and drank back his tea. The act of contracting his abdominal muscles to get up caused a faint ache in his side, though nothing he wasn’t accustomed to by now. He stood steady on his feet and deliberated each step, ignoring the strain of his left hip flexor. Before he could disappear from sight, Maxim spoke up.

“Hey. Call your dad. Unless you want me to instead.” 

It sounded like a threat, but if Timur really needed him to, Maxim would gladly make the call for him. He wavered on the spot for a second before making a dismissive gesture indicating he would, leaving Maxim shaking his head. 

* * *

The following days made Timur realise that he didn’t have the mental fortitude to deal with the jarring changes to his daily life. The interrupted sleep of waking to the medication wearing off, only to fidget with the blister packs long enough for Maxim to stir awake and help him with it. Despite Maxim’s insistence that he truly didn’t mind caring for him, Timur always found himself returning to a place of doubt and guilt. 

It was hard not to. He hated the thought that he was responsible for the tired look on Maxim’s face in the mornings, he couldn’t ignore the idea that his weary smiles were forced gentleness and deep down, there was a genuine fear that Maxim would grow to resent his role as caregiver. If there was some way for Timur to return this gesture, he would do it within a heartbeat, though nothing seemed to make up for it. 

There was little to do at work too aside from reports and the minor administrative responsibilities he had. Timur found his days rather bleak, even more so when his first physiotherapy appointment highlighted how long it could take before he would be fit to return to the field. He often found himself going to work with Maxim to be in the company of friends, choosing to spend his free time at base regardless of his medical leave. A week of watching shows on the couch was enough to make him crave more human interaction. 

Timur found himself far from home on this particular evening, sitting by the kitchen counter of Shuhrat’s quaint home. The thermostat was turned up high enough to give a sleepy coziness and the aroma of dinner cooking on the stove had Timur almost falling apart. A traditional dish from Uzbekistan, something flavourful and simply delectable. He had the intention to ask Shuhrat for the recipe, but the thought slipped from him. 

As they ate, their conversation crept towards work. It was hard not to talk about it, though the discussions were never in the same vein as small-talk. Shuhrat was not the type to make meaningless talk and he finally gave Timur the closure he had been seeking for a while now. Being the one directly behind him during the mission, Shuhrat had a precise account of what happened. 

It became apparent to Timur that this all only occurred as a result of his mistake. The information continued to rest upon his mind even after he had tried to push it aside, persisting and tormenting him. He thanked Shuhrat for the great meal before following down the path of the driveway to where Maxim waited with the car door opened. 

A quick nap on the journey home made it pass in a blink and he woke to Maxim patting his shoulder. They didn’t speak much on the elevator ride to their floor. It didn’t take words for Maxim to sense something was wrong and he glanced at Timur from time to time, his stares made often and obvious enough to hint that he was available for a chat. 

It seemed like ages before Timur was able to lie down in bed with all the maintenance needed to change the dressings. Even by then, he was too troubled to rest his mind. Maxim fed him his two pills for the night and brought the glass of water to his lips. He set the glass aside then brought both hands to cradle Timur’s avoidant expression. 

“You’re upset,” Maxim stated, knowing the truth so well no matter how Timur tried to deny it. He leaned forwards to press a kiss against Timur’s forehead, then his cheek and finally down to his lips, hoping to soothe his soul some way. “Was it something I did?” He asked first, the leading questions coaxing simple answers from Timur. The younger man shook his head. “Something that happened?”

No to both, so Maxim let go for a moment and settled down on his side of the bed. He inched close to Timur and put an arm around him, eyes still staring, studying, inspecting his face as if to decipher what the tension in his brow meant. “Do you want to talk about it?” Maxim then asked, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles into Timur’s skin in a comforting manner. 

Timur turned to look at him, but then shifted his gaze to focus on the creases in the bed covers. He drew a steady breath through his nose and pressed his lips into a thin line, trying to gather his thoughts. “I should’ve confirmed the kill.” His voice was small and weak, a mixture of wavering emotion and fatigue. “I wasn’t being careful enough.”

Realising what this was about, Maxim’s hand gave his arm a firm squeeze of reassurance. “Hey,” he said in a soft tone. He didn’t mean to chide, though it was simply his form of love. “No use beating yourself up over it, hm? It’s already happened, you can’t change that.”

Timur closed his eyes in defeat, but he wasn’t going to fall asleep any time soon and they both knew that. He moved carefully to nestle close and Maxim’s arms took him in, enveloping him in a familiar warmth that smelt of cigarettes. “I just feel terrible,” Timur continued. “About _everything._ Now I can’t do anything by my fucking self, you’re constantly having to deal with me and this is all my fault.”

While Maxim didn’t know what _everything_ referred to, he understood the misery Timur was in. Relying on someone else always came with a hefty dose of guilt. If there was some way to fix this, he wouldn’t hesitate to relieve him of his burdens, only if it were that simple. In their silence, Timur’s breaths were steady but quick as his burdens grew apparent, the pressure increasing with every minute passing by. 

“I thought I was going to lose you, you know that?” Maxim brought up, tearing out the very thoughts that had been lingering on his mind from the day it happened. It needed to be said, he wanted Timur to hear it. “You should have seen me...” He gave a soft laugh, an attempt at easing a situation that seemed to be so grim. “Lera will tell you. I was going crazy.” 

A pause between them allowed enough time for his throat to become stiff with the intense sentiments beginning to surface. “And I’m just so fucking glad you’re okay,” Maxim continued. He knitted his brows as if to pull the seams of his composure tighter together. “I don’t care how much I have to help you, Timur. All this? It’s not me _dealing_ with you- it will never be me dealing with you. I love you and I’ll do this for the rest of our lives if it means I can have you by my side, alright?”

The sensation of depthless emotion in Timur’s chest made the dull ache of his shoulder seem like nothing, taking his mind off it much faster than any opioid had managed to dampen the pain. He managed to nod in response, finding immense comfort in the firm kiss Maxim placed upon his temple. Held within his arms, Timur gave up on trying to isolate the feelings that had been pent up inside him. The longer he tried, the worse it got. It wasn’t the kind of emotion that left him weeping, but it left him feeling as if the weight of the universe was about to crush him alive and the only thing keeping this from happening was Maxim’s arms enveloping him, protecting him. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Maxim repeated once more, his voice fragile and quiet. 

They basked in their simmering emotion, thoughts burning in the darkness with ferociousness. The entanglement of their limbs were arranged in a precise manner to accommodate Timur and his comfort, even if it crushed Maxim’s arm and made his fingertips tingle. This was okay to Maxim. He could bear this. He buried his nose into the sprawl of Timur’s hair which had grown considerably over time. The scent of shampoo brought him back to the evening where he had spiked Timur’s hair with the suds and received a deadpan expression in response. 

Timur did not know if this information reassured his state of mind or the anxieties still ate at him. Though for now, he realised that this whole ordeal affected Maxim just as much. While he knew the older man cared for him a great deal, Timur hated the thought of making him worry. He touched a hand to the arm spanning across his torso, the bulky splint on his fingers brushing along Maxim’s skin as a gesture of affection, a restricted one but the best he could manage

They held each other, hoping time would pass a little faster.

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, I initially started writing this with the bathtub scene in mind. In my head it's much more intimate than what I have described, almost to the point where it was jarring to mention precisely what I envisioned (and as a result, was cut out of the final draft) so I leave it to you to interpret it. 
> 
> My Twitter is [@CompoundZ8](https://twitter.com/CompoundZ8)  
> My Tumblr is [erc-7](https://erc-7.tumblr.com)


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